


Aurora Borealis

by lmas5474



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinslaying, Not for Targ Stans, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:46:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmas5474/pseuds/lmas5474
Summary: Northern lights will guide me to you
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell, Alys Karstark/Robb Stark, Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark, Edmure Tully/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Jon Snow/Arya Stark, Lyanna Mormont/Rickon Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 62
Kudos: 208





	1. Rise and Fall and Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rebellion failed.  
> Sansa is betrothed to Crown Prince Aegon as reparation and to ensure peace in the Realm.  
> Shit follows.

When Sansa turned seven name days old, her Lord Father and Lady Mother took her to their shared solar and told her she was to marry the Crown Prince when she turned ten and seven. She was very pleased and proud then. It was all she wanted. She’ll be a Princess and then a Queen!

She imagined it quite vividly and her dreams just became stronger as the years passed.

She’ll go south when she turned ten and will learn under the kind and benevolent Queen Elia and her own Aunt the Queen Lyanna would also help her adapt to life at court. She would get to live in the Red Keep and meet the glorious knights of the Kingsguard. She’ll meet the powerful lords and most beautiful ladies of the realm and mingle with them. She’ll get to wear the prettiest gowns of the latest fashions in the capital.

Her life will be one worthy of pages and pages of stories the people will tell their children and songs the bards will sing across all Seven Kingdoms. She will do her Father and Mother and their house and the North proud.

The remaining years she had in Winterfell were spent in lessons, learning everything she needed to be the perfect Lady and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. When she turned ten, her Lord Father accompanied her to the south. They stopped by Riverrun for a moon where she met her Grandfather, the Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun and the Riverlands, her Uncle Edmure and Great Uncle Brynden.

Her Lord Grandfather embraced her tight and kissed her forehead and told her how proud he was of her. He then gravely explained to her how dangerous court life would be and commanded her Uncle Brynden the Blackfish to be her protector. It was the first time someone told her of the dangers of the court. She had been too young then to understand the gravity of her Grandfather’s words but she was happy she would have her gruff but beloved and strong uncle with her father’s loyal guards with her in the capital. Her best friend Jeyne Poole would also be with her.

Despite the foul smell, when she arrived in Kingslanding and saw the Red Keep, she knew all her dreams were coming true.

The members of the Royal Family were just like as she imagined. The King Rhaegar was so handsome with his silver hair and deep, sad eyes. The Queen Elia was simply elegant. Her Aunt the Queen Lyanna looked just as beautiful and wild as the stories told. Crown Prince Aegon looked a real prince from the songs. The Princess Daenerys was smaller than Sansa but she had an ethereal beauty about her. Prince Jahaerys, her cousin looked like a Northman, like her Father. Princess Rhaenys was in Dorne and Prince Viserys was in Dragonstone.  


In the years she lived with the Royal Family, many changes occurred. Princess Rhaenys was wedded to her Uncle Edmure and became her Aunt by marriage. Prince Viserys was betrothed to Myrcella Connington, daughter of Lady Cersei and Lord Hand Connington. Princess Daenerys was betrothed to her cousin Jasper Arryn, the heir to the Vale. 

With these changes, she herself changed too. Her eyes were opened to the so many ugly truths and made her grow up from a girl full of stupid songs in her head into a wary and quiet woman. At ten and five, she held close to her heart the truths everyone in the damned Red Keep knew but refused to speak about. And here are some of the truths she has learned.  


The song were nothing but lies made by bards to make people happy and feel good enough to give them a penny. If only someone told her the stories are nothing but a twisted tale of events told by the victors to cover up their ugly deeds and atrocious acts to deceive people foolish enough to listen and believe them.  


The Royal Family is a rotting one.  


Queen Elia and Princess Rhaenys were good and kind people. They fulfilled their responsibilities as royals and were compassionate to the people. They have shown Sansa the ropes and has helped her acclimatize and surviving the difficulties of Red Keep. They have included her in their projects to better the lives of those living in the Crownlands. They are both an example Sansa is trying her hardest to live up to.  


The rest of the royal family, Sansa has come to be cautious of.  


King Rhaegar is not the great King everyone thought he would be. He is an incompetent one whose head is often up in the stars, filled with dreams and prophecies and his heart is unfeeling to the plight of his people.  


Her Aunt the Queen Lyanna is a selfish and impulsive one. She is as wild as everyone in the North said she is and has no care for her royal duties, preferring horses and swords as though she is a knight instead of a queen. She has come to disdain Sansa for being more lady than wolf and Sansa has learnt to quietly despise her for her irresponsibility and disrespect toward the Queen Elia. She called Sansa Little Trout with a sneer and in her mind, Sansa called her Queen Bitch.  


Prince Viserys is a monster with little care to who gets hurt in his quest for more power.  


Princess Daenerys is a cold and arrogant cunt who thinks her Targaryen blood makes her better than everyone else.  


Her cousin Jahaerys was sent North to foster so Sansa did not have enough interaction with him to build a complete study of his character.  


And the Prince Aegon… he is the one that made Sansa guarded the most. He is handsome and great with a sword. He is always gallant and polite with her. Always offering his arms during their walks, kissing her hand and wearing her favor during tourneys but there is sometimes a strange look in his eyes that Sansa cannot fathom. That made her afraid.  


When she turned ten and six, a tourney and a feast was done in her name. To celebrate her impending wedding with the Prince.  


Many knights and lords from over the Seven Kingdoms entered the lists. She prayed for her Prince to win. He did. 

When he was given the flowers, he marched his horse around the tourney grounds and, in the end, stopped in front of the smirking Lady Margaery Tyrell and crowned her his Queen of Love and Beauty. The smiles fell. With the humiliation worth the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa realized then what that coldness in Prince Aegon’s eyes was. The Crown Prince despised her. For being a Stark. For being the niece of the woman who played a role in the dishonor of his mother.  


It was as if the hounds from the Seven Hells were turned loose. Many people were shouting in outrage and some became violent. But all was lost to Sansa as all her mind could focus on was the terrible look on Prince Aegon’s eyes. She didn’t know anything after that.  


In the aftermath, the King, Queens Elia and Lyanna, Sansa’s Lord Father along with the Small Council and Lords from the North, the Vale and the Trident had assembled. It was later she was informed that Prince Aegon has married the Lady Margaery in secret. With the agreement of Queen Elia and Princes Doran and Oberyn, the Prince was stripped of his title as Crown Prince and the title passed on to Jahaerys, who was to be her new betrothed.  


When the Martell family along with Queen Elia and Princess Rhaenys met with her, they embraced her tight and made their apologies for what Prince Aegon has done. Prince Oberyn, who at first was indifferent to Sansa but has become almost an uncle to her with Queen Elia’s help, assured her they have withdrawn their support of Prince Aegon. For he has proven no better than many of the selfish Targaryen princes in the past who caused wars and destruction to the Seven Kingdoms and appeared to have no regard for Dorne himself. They have all assured her of their regard and love for her and promised her their alliance over Margaery Tyrell and her conniving and ambitious family.  


Her Aunt the Queen Lyanna crowed in victory. She considered it a triumph that her son was finally made the Crown Prince. A mere moon has passed when another blow was dealt to Sansa. Her cousin, the Prince Jahaerys , has married her younger sister Arya in secret. She and Arya have always had a difficult relationship when they were younger but never did she think her capable of this betrayal. She knows better now.  


With Arya married to the Crown Prince, her father and those in the Northern alliance could not complain. This time, Sansa must suffer the humiliation with no other Targaryen prince to betroth her to for reparation. It was then Sansa decided she had enough of crowns and thrones and royal titles. She begged to return home to Winterfell.  


As payment for the Seven Kingdom’s worth of humiliation heaped upon her, King Rhaegar has seen it fit to award her gold and the Lands of the Gift attached to her name in perpetuity. Sansa has asked and been granted, in writing, the freedom to decide who to marry without any interference from the crown. Any children she may have are also free from the crown’s control. Never again shall she suffer as pawn of the Targaryens.  


Her return to the North was not the solace she thought it would be. Her Lord Father’s awkward silences, her mother’s disappointment, Robb’s pity, her younger brother’s incessant questions, Robb’s wife Alys Karkstark’s air of superiority. The tiptoeing of the household around her. The sneers and laughter of some of the lords and their families behind her. They called her many names. Names she never imagined would be given to her.  


The Targaryen Trash. The Wasted Wolf. The Floppy Fish. The Tainted Trout. The Silly Girl Who Reached Too High and Fell So Hard.  


They whispered it behind their hands and mugs of ale and wine and their ugly beards but she heard it all. It was all too much. With no good marriage offers ahead of her due to the dishonor attached to her name, she took her gold and her sworn swords, her Uncle Brynden, Lady Brienne and Sandor, along with a household granted to her by her father and men and made for the lands she was granted. She settled in Queenscrown. House of Phoenix. This is what she decided her house will be. As the mythical creature was said to rise from the ashes, so shall she rise from the ashes of her old self the Targaryens burnt. Let people call her names, they will soon eat their words.  


With all the wisdom she gained from Queen Elia and her Aunt Rhaenys as well as her time in the Red Keep, she was able to properly govern her lands and made her people trust and love her.  


Uncle Brynden, Lady Brienne and Sandor saw to training her men and getting more men to join to add to the defense of her lands.  


Wise and kind Maester Samwell introduced so many new ideas when it came to farming and ensuring their crops would produce better yield, his background as a man from the Reach where agriculture was the main industry just made him a greater boon in her service. She considers him a real treasure and has allowed him to marry in secret his wildling sweetheart. The world is full of stupid and useless men after all. Why forbid those who have the intelligent brains and the right character to bring more children to the world? Celibacy of great, learned men is just a bunch of shit Sansa does not believe in anymore.  


Her familial ties with the heir to the Vale have given her a better chance at acquiring more sheep and cattle at a cheaper price to be bred in her lands.  


Her gold she used to invest in ships used to fishing and dealing with more trade in the free cities of Essos.  


Her close relationships with the Martell family allowed for more fruit trade and also helped linked her with important Eastern ports.  


With all the prosperity in the Gift, more people flocked. With more people came better and stronger work force which allowed them to venture to even more trade.  


Lands where gold and metals could be mined were discovered. An increase in metal-working and trade of jewelry were seen as a result.  


And the most important trade of all –the black oil. With lakes and large deposits of this oil discovered in her lands, Maester Samwell tested its many uses and introduced it for trading. It has become as precious as Lannister gold and is the main source of wealth of the Gift.  


With the Gift wealthier than ever before, she now has the capacity to patronize houses of learning where children of even common roots could go to and learn letters and numbers. Houses for the sick were established and the service offered free for all.  


With all these, the lands of the Gift became one of the most progressive in the Seven Kingdoms. With wealth came alliances. The Mountain Clans became closer allies and has helped boost the defense of the Gift from attacks. The fishing trade with Bear Island has also seen a stronger friendship with House Mormont. The Houses Umber and Manderly have also taken their portion of wealth from the increased trade in the Gift and have forged better relationships with her.  


No longer the Targaryen Trash. Not a Wasted Wolf. Not a Floppy Fish. Not a Silly Girl anymore. She’s a firebird reborn, soaring high and stronger than she ever was before.  


Their greedy eyes on her wealth and their mouths watering in anticipation from all they could gain from her, many lords started courting her for her hand in marriage. They’re fools if they think she’ll let them and their filthy hands near her and hers.  


But she does need to have trueborn children for heirs. And a marriage to a powerful northern house is necessary to ensure the rest of the greedy bunch doesn’t feel confident enough to attack her lands.  


In the end, she decides to make a match with Domeric Bolton.


	2. Complicated Families

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of House Stark angst and frosty relationships

She decides to marry Domeric Bolton for many reasons. 

First, he is one of the few powerful and young Northern Lords who was polite both in front of her face and behind her back. One of the few whose eyes showed respect instead of delight and mockery in her humiliation from the Targaryen princes. She even had her spies reporting that the new Lord of the Dreadfort has made it clear any word of disrespect toward Sansa is not welcome in his presence. Sansa is not a naive girl anymore. She has spies all over the North to find out what the houses are doing and what their lords are saying. She will not fall a victim to another cruel man due to ignorance again.

Second, by all accounts she acquired from trusted sources, Domeric is a decent man. He was faithful, kind and good to Lady Wynafryd Manderly, his first wife who died in childbirth and took with her Lord Domeric's son and heir to the Dreadfort. He's a caring father to his only child, a girl of four. He’s also a man known for being quiet, who loved to read, played the harp and an excellent horseman. These traits alone make him good enough to fit Sansa’s ideal husband when she was still a young girl.

Third, Domeric Bolton currently has the most powerful alliance bound by blood in the North. An alliance of powerful houses which in the most recent years have weakened ties with House Stark and Winterfell. As Lord of the Dreadfort, he is already a formidable lord in his own right. His late mother was the beloved first daughter of House Ryswell. His mother's sister, Barbrey Ryswell is married to Lord Willam Dustin who is Lord of the Barrowton and the Barrowlands. His daughter is a beloved great grandchild of the cunning Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor. He was also fostered in his youth by House Redfort in the Vale and has made friends with some Vale lords and heirs during his time there. 

A marriage to him would tie Sansa and House Stark to this alliance. House Ryswell will finally have their dream of their blood mixed with Stark blood. House Dustin will keep quiet with all the wealth and trade connections they will gain with her. House Manderly will have an even stronger tie with the Gift should Sansa become the stepmother of Lord Wyman’s great granddaughter. It will also be enough to keep Alys Karstark and her arrogant and power-hungry family in line. Furthermore, it will ensure Sansa is in a better position to influence the North should Targaryen stupidity fuck things up in the south.

Lastly, he looked good enough to pass his blood to her heirs. He has taken most of his features from his Ryswell mother. Tall, strong physique, dark curly hair and a handsome face. The only inherent traits from his father were his pale, silvery eyes. But where the late Lord Bolton's eyes looked as if he was always planning to murder or flay someone, Domeric Bolton's eyes looked thoughtful and kind. She especially likes his eyes looking at her.

All these reasons she presents to her council of most trusted people:   
Great Uncle Brynden who is her Castellan   
Sandor her strong and fierce Master of Arms   
Lady Brienne her loyal sworn protector  
Maester Samwell the wise and dependable; her inexhaustible well of knowledge  
Jeyne Flint nee Poole, her best friend who decided to stay with her in Queenscrown where she met her husband, Lord Donnel Flint, heir of the First Flints of the Mountain, her grandmother Lyarra’s family  
Lady Dacey Mormont –Sandor’s lady love—who has settled in Queenscrown and has become a trusted friend and also the representative of House Mormont in the fur and fish trade with the Gift  
Lady Wylla Umber nee Manderly, who’s a dear friend and representative of Houses Umber and Manderly in their trade with her lands  
And Bran and Rickon, who have squired with Uncle Brynden and now spend most of their time with her in the Gift.

At first, some of them are skeptical, but after presenting all she has come to know about the Lord Bolton and the precarious position House Stark is in with the other northern houses, they all see the benefits of what she proposes and all agree to support her. The Lady Wylla in particular has expressed great relief, telling Sansa of her fears of her young niece being mistreated should Lord Domeric remarry. If Lord Domeric agrees –he’d be a fool not to—and should Sansa be the next Lady of the Dreadfort, Wylla feels confident her niece will be in good hands.

She is grateful to all of them. They have given her unparalleled support in her endeavors. They are not all her blood but they are the family she chose and would do so again and again. 

While her relationship with her new chosen family thrived, the relationships of the members of House Stark have decidedly changed over the years. Sansa is no longer the little pawn used to pay another’s sins in the clumsy hands of her parents. She has learnt her lessons well enough during her time south of the Neck to stop playing the role of the docile and dutiful daughter of House Stark. But that does not mean she will endanger the rest of her family. Far she may be from the daughter they raised, she is still Stark by blood and will not be the traitor who brings ruin to her family, especially the brothers she loves with all her heart. 

Robb, despite his wife’s hateful attitude and resentment of Sansa, remains the loving and supportive brother she’s known him to be. They don’t talk of what happened to her in the south and he has stopped pitying her after seeing how strong she’s become. He has come to understand that Sansa is no longer the little girl full of dreams he once knew and has come to accept her for what she’s become. He frequently writes her letters to express his pride of everything she has accomplished. In the few visits Sansa has made to Winterfell the past years, Robb always made sure to place his children –one son and two daughters now—in her arms so they’d know their Aunt Sansa. He would regale them with stories of her achievements and would tell them to follow after her footsteps. He even named his youngest daughter Serena after the sister of Sansa Stark who was wife to One-Eyed Jonnel, their ancestors. It warms Sansa’s heart to see her brother making sure his heirs recognize her and made sure to always send them gifts during their namedays.

Bran’s dreams of being a knight lost its appeal after squiring with Uncle Brynden and after long conversations with those who were with Sansa south. Her brother has become a lover of knowledge instead. He refused mother’s pleads to several matches and has threatened to go to the Citadel. Now, Bran spends his days with Maester Samwell reading books, having long, winded conversations or debates about philosophy and history and getting lost in their inventions. 

Rickon, as when he was young, is a wildling still. He has become Sandor’s shadow, always in the yard fighting anyone who would dare cross swords with him or spending his time riding his horse through her lands. He also refused to settle down, saying he’s young still and wants to enjoy his freedom. He also expressed wanting to stay in the Gift to help in fighting any wildling attacks but Sansa is sure he’s biding his time to get through Lyanna Mormont and get her to agree to marry him. Many thought him Brandon Stark the Wild Wolf reborn. 

Her relationship with her parents is another story. A far frosty one. 

Her father, just as before, remains inept in understanding and connecting with her. It seemed all he could understand was the wildness in Lyanna (the Queen Bitch) and Arya (the Traitor). In the aftermath of the debacle in the South, he has not said anything meaningful to Sansa and seemed unable to comprehend the person she’s grown up to be. The honorable Eddard Stark they call him still. But all Sansa sees is a man who sees the world for what it should be and blind to what it really is. A man who preaches about being a Stark, Winter, Pack and the North but an Arryn at heart who holds his honor foolishly higher above all. Sansa has gotten tired trying and has given up. 

Her mother is a similar but far sadder story. A long time ago, Sansa thought her mother was the best in all the Seven Kingdoms. With her bloodline, her beauty, her grace and her courtesies, Sansa wanted to emulate her. Now, she sees and understands that Catelyn Tully Stark is just another person with many flaws. She may be smart but she is impulsive. Her dedication to the useless Seven, her lessons of placing courtesy above being a strong woman and her ambitions of seeing her children with southern matches has done their house no good.

At only 25 years of age, Sansa has gone through many things already and knows enough by now that the Seven are blind and deaf and cruel gods, that a lady’s courtesy will do her nothing and the south is a barbaric land where people pretend they are good in front of others and turn ugly in the dark and behind closed doors. And so with her mind sharp, her backbone straight and her blue eyes showing the fire of the phoenix in her new sigil, she goes to Winterfell to make her decision to pursue Domeric Bolton known to her family. 

The result is chaos.


	3. Our Choices Seal Our Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Stark angst and drama

Well, not exactly chaos, but something close to it is certainly brewing.

A silence, heavy and tense, ruled her parents solar upon her declaration of her decision. She watched closely and studied the faces of her Lord Father, Lady Mother and Robb. Robb looked in deep thought, his curls failing to hide the wrinkles starting to appear on his forehead. Her father stared at her stonily, his eyes a perfect embodiment of the House Stark words Winter is Coming. Her mother on the other hand looked as if she was one of the dragons from the Targaryen sigil come to life, ready to declare Fire and Blood.

"Have you gone mad?!!! Sansa he’s a Bolton! You cannot be this stupid as to marry a man of that blood.” her mother screams, face red in rage.

"I am quite sure I have full command of my wits Mother. I have just proven that when I provided you all the reasons why marrying Domeric Bolton is strategic. Pray, tell, what exactly it is you're objecting to in me offering marriage to the Lord of the Dreadfort?" Sansa coolly stared her enraged Mother in the eye. She has presented her case quite sufficiently. It is galling to hear her mother object using only Bolton blood as her argument.

"Don't play stupid games with me girl!" Her Lady Mother looked as if steam was going to come out of her nose. "You know very well why he's not the right match for you. His Bolton blood is an insult to our house. A family of rapists and flayers!!! I cannot believe you would consider him, let alone marry him. Ned! Make your foolish daughter see sense!"

Sansa watched as her father stood up, as if trying to physically exert his power over her.

"I forbid this. No Stark has ever married a Bolton for a reason Sansa. You marrying Domeric Bolton and giving him heirs who would have claims to Winterfell will put your brothers and their heirs in danger. Domeric may be decent but history has proven those of their house are not to be trusted. Give them an inch and they will take every advantage to rebel and rule." Her Lord Father pronounces with eyes frosty and his voice grim.

Sansa is no longer the stupidly obedient child. Deference to their decisions has given her nothing but a mountain of humiliation and an ocean of insults from all over the Seven Kingdoms.

"House Bolton has been loyal to Winterfell for centuries. They too have shed blood to protect the North and even fought in the war your sister foolishly started. If you are objecting because of the actions of Domeric's ancestors and bastard brother, then you are a hypocrite -considering you have accepted your beloved sister and other daughter's marriage to a family of even worse history. A family of inbred kingslayers, kinslayers, rapers, murderers and oath breakers. And to make things clear Father, I am not seeking your approval. I am merely showing you the respect you are owed by informing you of my decision." Sansa replies with steel in her words and eyes. 

“We have let you do whatever you want for so long! It ends here now. You have insulted this house and this family when you failed to secure Prince Aegon and your position as Crown Princess. You have made a mockery of your father and I when you decided to settle in the barbaric lands of the Gift and create a new house of your own. You made us appear like fools you ungrateful child!” Her mother shrieks, spittle almost flying out of her mouth.

Looking into her eyes, Sansa cannot find the mother of her childhood. All she sees is a cold woman who sees her as a failure and refused to see reason.

“So you finally say it. I must thank you, Mother, for finally making it clear how you think of me. Though if you would allow me to give you advice, perhaps you should use your wits and think first before you put all the blame at my feet. I have been nothing but a biddable daughter of this house; a pawn you allowed to be used ill by the Royal Family to pay for the sins of Father’s selfish cunt of a sister and made a mockery of all the kingdoms by Father's favorite daughter. But you can’t place the blame on the Queen and the Crown Princess can you? So you condemn me instead. How pathetic.”

"Enough. There is no need to go this route. Father, Mother, I must agree with Sansa on this. Marrying Domeric Bolton is a sensible decision. It will secure us the alliances we need to ensure the North remains united." Robb finally partakes in the conversation. 

"I am still Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North Robb. It is still my decision to make and for you to obey."

"That you are Father. However I am also your Heir. When you are gone, I will rule after you and my children after me and we will be the ones who will face the consequences of a divided North born of your inaction. We all are not ignorant of the state of affairs in the North. We are surrounded by Lords still displeased or angry with the events that occurred during the Rebellion. Granted we have the support of the throne from the south, but for how long?"

“I do not agree with this—“

“As I have said Mother, I am not asking for your agreement nor do I seek your blessing. I am merely informing you of my decision. I believe I have overstayed my welcome. I will be leaving for Queenscrown as soon as provisions for my retinue are secured.”

With all the grace she learned since childhood, Sansa stands to leave the solar. Upon nearing the door, she feels Robb catch up with her and lock their elbows.

“Please walk with me Sister. We must speak before you leave.”

Still incensed with the conversation that took place in the solar, Sansa allows her brother to lead her. After a long walk of no words passed between them, Robb finally leads her to the godswood. They stand in front of the heart tree and Sansa waits for her brother to deliver his piece.

“I remember when we were still very young, when you would beg us to play Knights and Maidens. You would always be the damsel in distress, Arya would be the monster and I would be the young knight to save you. How time has twisted that innocent game into an ugly reality now. Arya is the princess, you have become a strong and wise Lady of your lands, and I the damsel needing your help to keep my title and place.”

The sigh that comes out of Robb is so deep and weary. Sansa looks at her brother and sees how much he’s aged. How his shoulders seem to slump under a heavy weight. She wonders if she looks that way now too. They have left their youth and innocence so far behind them and now carry burdens they will have to contend with the rest of their lives.

“I am sorry sister. For failing in my promises to protect you—“

“There was nothing you could do Robb. If you had tried anything, you might have ended the same way Uncle Brandon did. It is done. That part of my life is over with. There is nothing left to do now but move forward. Let us not speak of what ifs and could have beens, they are nothing but useless drivel.”

Robb inhales and exhales slowly. He takes her hand and looks her in the eye.

“When are you meeting him?”

“The Lady Wylla has returned to White Harbor to speak with her Father regarding a trade agreement amendment. She’ll be passing by the Dreadfort. I have sent a letter inviting Lord Bolton in Queenscrown. I have given her instructions not to provide further information.”

“You are confident you will succeed?”

“I am. Jeyne has shared some eye-opening insights as did Bran. The Lady Wylla also strongly agrees this proposal will succeed.”

“Alright then. Domeric is a decent man as far as I can see. I do have reservations with House Bolton, this I admit. But I trust you Sansa. And there is no one else I will put my faith in when it comes to securing an alliance with him but you. Know that you have my support.” Robb then takes her in his arms and kisses her forehead. “I wish you find all the happiness in the world with him, sister. It would please me to see you smile and laugh and be happy again.”

“Thank you Robb. I thank you for your trust. Though, don’t wish me happiness, for the gods are cruel and are more likely to twist our wishes resulting into ugly endings and you should know by now that happiness is a fleeting thing. Wish me strength instead, that I will have the courage to face any obstacle and triumph over them.”

Robb smiles fondly at her. “You’ve grown so wise sister. Do share some of your wisdom in your letters with me when you have time to spare.”

“I will try. I am sorry but I have to leave today Robb. I cannot spend another day here. I rather go back to my own home than impose my presence. Give my love to your children brother.”

“I understand. Take care and safe travels sweet sister. Give my love to Bran and Rick. And tell them I command them to come visit me. Too many women here at Winterfell. I need some male companionship and support. Don’t hog our brothers, little sister.”

With their goodbyes taken care of and Lady Brienne confirming they were prepared to make the journey home, Sansa takes her leave of Winterfell and rides for the Gift.

When they settle for camp that night, her eyes and breath are caught by a glorious display of colorful lights far northeast where the Lonely Mountains stand. She no longer believes in gods, but at that moment, she's certain she's making the right choice and feels she's walking the right path.


	4. The Lord of the Dreadfort

When she first expressed her intent to look for an advantageous match, Domeric Bolton was not someone she had considered. Lady Wynafryd was still alive then and Lord Bolton happily married to her. As soon as news spread that the Lady of the Dreadfort perished in childbirth along with her babe, Jeyne, along with Maester Samwell and Bran promptly proposed Domeric’s name for consideration.

She had her doubts, of course. Starks have never mixed blood with Boltons. However, Maester Samwell and Bran pointed out the benefits of making a marriage alliance with Lord Domeric and Jeyne shared her observations regarding Lord Bolton’s regard for Sansa.

Sansa thought she imagined it. Of course she learned of Lord Bolton’s command to his men not to disrespect her name and she did notice him stare at her many times during feasts but she had thought it was only because of her infamous circumstances.

Upon going to White Harbor regarding trade with Lord Wyman, she unexpectedly met the Lord Domeric who was visiting with his daughter too. She watched him closely then and realized that indeed, the Lord Bolton looked at her differently. His silvery eyes showing respect and something else that made her think she is not opposed to the idea of marrying him.

She was not naïve though, so she had her spies get her more information. She had people discreetly investigate in the Dreadfort. She also surreptitiously asked Lady Wylla questions regarding the state of her late sister’s marriage with Lord Domeric. The positive responses from the future Lady of Last Hearth and the reports she received from her spies cemented her choice.

Now, she and the important people of her household stand as Lord Bolton and his retinue enter the castle grounds two moons after she sent him a letter inviting him to Queenscrown.

The Lord of the Dreadfort arrives on top of an imposing black destrier. Watching him guide his horse then fluidly dismount, she has to agree he is the most graceful horse rider she’s ever seen.

As soon as his feet are on the ground, he starts walking to her, his eyes focused on her. There’s an intensity there that made her knees weak. Lady Brienne—who stood behind her—thankfully presses her warm, large and strong hands to her back, as if sensing her need for assurances.

When Lord Domeric finally stops in front of her, Sansa smiles and gives him the appropriate curtsy.

“Lord Bolton, welcome to Queenscrown and the Gift.”

“Thank you Lady Stark” His voice is deep and respectful. He bows deeply to her in return. He is almost a head taller than her, she realizes. And his physique is proof of hours of training in the yard. She looks him in the eye and finds the same look she liked.

“I hope you had a safe journey to my lands, My Lord. Nothing untoward happened I hope.”

“Yes My Lady. It has been an interesting ride through the Gift. I had heard of good things happening here under your leadership but never imagined how changed this part of the North really is. Allow me to commend you for a work well done. You are a blessing to your lands and your people and it is an honor to be invited here.”

“Thank you My Lord. Please, partake with me in this bread and salt and be welcomed under my roof and protection”

Maester Samwell steps forward, his hands lifted with the bowls of bread and salt. Lord Domeric does not hesitate to take and eat the offering, all the while looking at her with his silvery eyes. She feels a thrilling jolt go up her spine and pretends to look at Samwell and smile her appreciation to avoid the eyes currently making her feel all jittery.

With Guest Rights offered and accepted, they proceed inside the castle.

“It has been a long journey for you and your retinue My Lord. I am sure you all would like to take a rest or refresh. My servants will guide your men to their accommodations during your stay here. My maid Lyra shall escort you to your rooms. I hope you find it to your liking. Please, if there is anything lacking, do not hesitate to tell her and we shall see it addressed. A feast has been prepared for tonight. I shall meet you then.” She gives him a gentle smile then to ensure he knows she is genuine in her inviting him.

Lord Domeric stills for a while, staring at her and then bows in thanks. She watches him follow Lyra to his designated rooms. Before they turn a corner, she catches him turn his head and look at her. She smiles and nods her head then turn to go to her solar with Lady Brienne silent behind her.

She needs time to clear her thoughts. She had planned everything carefully, prepared for every eventuality.

But having Domeric Bolton in her castle now is an entirely different thing. 

She has taken the phoenix for her sigil but right now, she feels like a fish out of the water, a lone wolf caught in a winter storm. She needs wine and lemoncake. She needs her Uncle Brynden’s calm, Bran assurances, Rickon’s energy and Maester Samwell’s clear logic. She needs enough time to regroup before facing Domeric Bolton once more.


	5. Of Hopes and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to those who read this and express their enjoyment and interest.

The first time Domeric Bolton met Sansa Stark, it was during a harvest feast at Winterfell. He was ten and two and has just finished his duties as a page in Barrowton to his Aunt Barbrey and Uncle Willam, the Lord and Lady of Barrowton and the Barrowlands.

He has met his younger female cousins and has known some of the daughters of northern houses but to him, none had been as beautiful as Sansa Stark. Hair kissed by fire, eyes bright cornflower blue and such lovely smiles. She had only been six but she was already so graceful, composed like a princess.

But he’s a smart boy just like Aunt Barbrey and Grandfather Rodrik always said and already knew his history. She’s a Stark and he’s a Bolton. Even then, young as he was, he has known she will never be for him. So all he did was look and appreciate the beauty that was Sansa Stark from afar.

When he was sent to the Vale to squire for Lord Horton Redfort, he pushed the memory of beautiful Sansa Stark away to the deepest corner of his mind, to the place where things he’s lost and things he’ll never find were stacked like books and scrolls in a maester’s tower. He rarely lets any of them come out, and when he does, only when he’s alone and in the dark.

When he learned that Sansa Stark was to marry the Crown Prince Aegon, he felt the world stop. He realized then that all along, he’d been running blindly carrying a torch for Sansa Stark and his time has ran out .

His mind in disarray and his heart numb, he rode his prized horse to a cliff overlooking the sea and set up camp for a night. Under thousands of stars spread across the night sky, he let himself remember every little thing he personally knew and learned from others about Sansa Stark.

He let himself imagine of things that could have been had he not been born a Bolton or she a Stark. If he had been born an Umber, a Karstark, a Dustin, a Ryswell, or even a Reed.

When he slept, he dreamt of her.

In his dream, he was standing in front of a heart tree and she was by his side. She was older and even more beautiful. She wore a damask white gown with silver wolf patterns and beautiful laces and a crown of blue roses that brought out the color of her eyes. Her hair was left free, like flames dancing in the dark. She smiled at him and reached for his arm and he knotted his fingers with hers. They bowed in front of the heart tree and prayed to the Old Gods. After that, he embraced her tight and kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose and finally her pretty lips and thought _I am yours and you are mine until the end of time. You are my home. Don't ever let me go. Let me live a hundred years and let me die a thousand more in the cradle of your arms._

When he woke up, he knew his dream will never be. So he packed up, mounted his horse and took one last look of the sea that was the color of her eyes. He scattered his hopes and dreams to the wind and prayed she will find the happiness and love he will never be allowed to give her. He returned to the Redfort, resolved to live the rest of his life doing his duty to his house and his people.

When his Lord Father secured him a match with Lady Wynafryd of House Manderly, he made an oath to himself he would treat her as he would’ve treated Sansa Stark. And perhaps, with the blessing of the Old Gods, love will grow and they will have a marriage better than his Lord Father and beloved Lady Mother.

Then came news of the Targaryen Princes’ dishonorable actions toward Sansa Stark. He had been livid then, at how the inbred scums could humiliate a lady of a Great House so. But he was a Bolton and Boltons don’t act in haste to defend a Stark. There had been nothing he could do but be quiet and only made sure not to join and to prevent any insulting talks about Sansa Stark as discreetly as possible. Some of his Ryswell cousins made fun of him protecting a Stark maiden when it was a Stark who dishonored his Aunt Barbrey. His Aunt Barbrey, as he predicted, found great amusement of what befell Sansa Stark but there was nothing he could do on that part without his formidable Aunt discovering the regard he secretly has for the lady.

When Sansa Stark returned North, he had wondered what would become of her. It pained him to think of all the hurt and suffering she’s been through and not be able to do anything to help her. He was especially enraged at how many of the Northern Lords and heirs treated her with disrespect. If only he weren't chained to the name Bolton, he would have done more for her.

After half a year, news spread that Sansa Stark went further North—to the Gift. Rumors spread then of a she-wolf on retreat with her tail between her legs. Of a fallen woman who's decided to live far from civilization to avoid the humiliation she was dealt with. Many had laughed and made bets on how long a southern lady like her could tolerate life in the barbaric lands and return to Winterfell in even more disgrace.

But she proved her naysayers wrong.

Sansa Stark established a house of her own and proved to everyone she could achieve great things despite all the indignity she has suffered. She has made the lands of Gift a better place than it ever was and now presides over one of the wealthiest houses in the Seven Kingdoms. All those who mocked and insulted her now eat their words. Many of the Lords and heirs who have laughed and called her offensive names now panted after her and her riches like dogs. He’s proud of her and silently wished her good fortune in all her endeavors.

Then his Lady Wife died and his heir lost with her, leaving him with his young daughter. He has come to care for Lady Wynafryd—has learned to appreciate her during the years they’d been married. Her death had been hard on him and his daughter and so a few moons after her passing, they went to White Harbor for a visit and left the sorrowful Dreadfort behind.

There he again met Sansa Stark. Beautiful than he had ever imagined, eyes even more captivating and a strength laced to her grace. Try as he might, he could not take his eyes off her. And she looked back at him with curious eyes too. And every hope and dream he scattered in the wind at the Vale all came rushing back.

He refused all marriage proposals that came pouring in, all from lords who were looking to gain more power and influence by having their daughters or sisters married to the Lord of the Dreadfort. Greedy beasts, the lot of them. He was not interested in marrying a starry-eyed maiden. His interest is only for a maiden kissed by fire and blue eyes. A woman who has one of the most brilliant minds, who has proven strong against the harshness of the world and came out victorious. He only needed to know how to make a proposal worthy enough for said lady.

A few moons after that, his sister by law, the Lady Wylla visited the Dreadfort and his daughter. With her was a letter from Lady Sansa Stark inviting him to the Gift. He read her invitation over and over again and rewrote a letter of response many times, each one feeling inadequate until he forced himself to have one sent to avoid giving the Lady of the Gift an impression of disinterest on his part.

Journeying across the lands of the Gift, he imagined many situations where the Lady Sansa offered him her hand in marriage and knew he would eagerly accept and even marry her right away if that is what she'd ask of him. 

Then he thought of what he would do if no marriage offer was given.

A sobbering thought. But he has decided; if she does not offer him marriage, he will ask for her instead. No more doubts. No more hesitation. He’s a Bolton and she’s a Stark but perhaps this time, they can make an exception.

He allows himself to hope.


	6. Breathless

Dressed in a beautiful gown she made herself and a stunning pearl headdress gifted to her by the Lord of White Harbor in recognition of their prolific trade alliance, with the Lady Brienne behind her, Sansa approached Lord Domeric Bolton at the entrance of the banquet hall so they enter together. He was having a conversation with Uncle Brynden, Bran and Maester Samwell so he did not see her walk toward them.

He looked good…no, he looked great. He was wearing a black, short-sleeved leather jerkin laced in the front with an oxblood doublet underneath and a black belt with a silver horse head shaped buckle—without a doubt in recognition of his Ryswell blood through his mother. There was a metalwork of the flayed man pinned near his collar, studded with rubies which had the effect of looking like blood drops. He wore dark pants which fitted his long, strong legs and shined leather boots to complete his ensemble.

If she had been younger, she would’ve felt fear of the reminder that the man she was planning to offer marriage to hailed from a house infamous for flaying. It does not bother her anymore. She’s older now and has met monsters and beasts pretending to be men—scums she herself believed deserved to be flayed alive. The fearsome reputation of House Bolton and the Dreadfort will only be an added boon for people to fear and hesitate going against her.

It was Uncle Brynden who first took notice of her. He smiled fondly and moved to embrace her. “There you are. You’re a sight for sore eyes, our Lady of the Gift.”

“Thank you Uncle, you look distinguished yourself.” She kissed his cheek and patted his arm.

Her uncle only snorted and grouched. “Always so polite sweet girl. I look old and grey is what you mean.”

“Of course not Uncle. You are the feared Blackfish. No matter how old you get, you will always look dignified. Do you not agree my Lords?” She looked to the other three men. Maester Samwell bobbed his head jerkily in agreement as though afraid to say otherwise and wanting to avoid offending her fearsome uncle. Bran simply laughed and nodded.

Lord Domeric first looked at her appreciatively then looked at her uncle with a hint of amusement in his silvery eyes. “I agree with you My Lady. I just told Ser Brynden it is a great pleasure to finally meet him in person. I would be honored to cross swords with him in the training yard.”

“Well, I certainly am not going to turn down a challenge. Just don’t be offended if I beat your lordly ass My Lord” was Uncle Brynden’s reply, eyes alight with the challenge and promise of a good fight.

Sansa is already used by now of her Uncle’s sometimes breach in etiquette. He’s always been one to challenge the boundaries of protocol. “You men can make good of your challenge on the morrow. For now, let us join our people in the hall. I fear they’d start eating the cutlery if we delay any further."

The three men all laugh. The Lord Bolton then stepped forward and bowed to her. “My Lady, you look absolutely divine. If you would, it will be an honor leading you to the hall.” He offered his arm, all the while looking at her with his silvery eyes which had that same look that made her shiver in anticipation. Of what? She’s not certain yet.

“Of course. Thank you My Lord, you look dashing yourself.” She smiled at him and put her hands on the crook of his elbow.

She recognized the pleasure that bloomed on his face when she took her place by his side. His eyes turned softer and his lips curled up slowly and Sansa suddenly felt constricted in her gown. She lowered her lashes to hide what she was feeling and motioned to move forward and enter the hall. It was not the right time to be thinking what those eyes and lips were doing to her.

Lady Brienne and Uncle Brynden followed them and Bran and Maester Samwell last.

When they entered the hall, the people cheered and the feast started.

If anyone asked her what exactly happened after that, she’d struggle to give a full account of the events. The entire feast, she felt very conscious of the Lord of the Dreadfort seated beside her. He was all she could focus on. She felt the warmth emanating from him. She got distracted easily by his woodsy scent. And when he spoke with his silvery eyes intent on her face, her mind would drift and all she could think of was how he would sound and look like when he wakes up in bed in the morning, how his voice and eyes would soften when he looked at his child in affection, how he’d look and sound like in the height of passion or anger.

Feeling like she went back to her old stupid self, she took every opportunity to talk to others on the table with them. When it came time to dance, like a skittish filly, she jumped at Bran’s invitation to dance and took the opportunity to escape from the Lord of the Dreadfort.

“Are you finally back to your normal self, sister?” Bran looked at her with a small smile tugging at his lips, his eyes filled with amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Bran” she evades her brother by looking nodding and smiling at Jeyne and her husband who were also on the dancing floor with them.

Bran lets out a laugh and poked her side, “No need to deny it sister. I have eyes you know. I saw you looked like you were out of breath sitting beside Lord Bolton. He’s an intense man and a good-looking one to. I don’t blame you going breathless for him” He teased.

“Bran, I didn’t know you were into men. You should have told me. I would never have considered him had I known you’ve set your eyes on him” She teased her brother back, knowing it’s the only way to strike back at him when he’s in a jesting mood.

Bran only huffed and rolled his eyes at her “Sister, no need to question my manhood and spread nasty rumors. What would mother do if word reaches her that his favorite son is a deviant?”

“Scream her head off and tear out her lovely red hair, I’m sure. And when she’s calmed down, invade the Gift with father’s men and drag you bound and gagged to her sept where she’ll read to you the book of the Seven over and over again. Then place all the blame on top of my head for being a bad influence on you” They both laughed at the thought of what the proper Catelyn Tully Stark would do if she learns one of her sons is a sword swallower.

“I talked with him for quite some time Sansa. I admit I like him even better now that I’ve met him. He looked genuinely decent enough. And you should calm yourself sister. The way that man looked at you since he arrived, I cannot think anyone looking more in love” Her brother patted her hands gently.

“Do you really think so Bran?” She looked in his eyes to see if he spoke the truth. Bran always does, but she needs assurance she's not just imagining things with the Lord of the Dreadfort.

“Yes. I’m not a naïve, young boy anymore you know. I have come to find the importance of looking closely at how people act and scrutinizing what they say and don’t say instead of listening to stories and tales of chivalry. I might not understand everything you endured but I do know much of what you’ve gone through. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt again sister, not if I can do something about it.”

“Thank you Bran. For looking out for me. I love you little brother. I am glad to have you here.” She then hugged him, choking on a sudden rush of affection for her least vocal but most thoughtful brother.

Bran merely patted her back and chuckled. “Come now sister, compose yourself back to the perfect Lady we all know you to be. The Lord of the Dreadfort is looking at us. I wouldn’t like to have him think I am hurting you and making you cry. He might plan to flay me alive and use my skin as a banner when he rides to war.”

“Oh Bran, your sense of humor has gotten so awful. Whatever happened to that young boy who was always sweet and innocent?” She swatted him in the arm.

“He’s grown up to be one of the barbarians of the North now sweet sister. And admit it, you love me anyway, no matter how awful my humor. More than Robb and Rickon” He winked at her, lips curling up into his truly charming smirk. The one many said he got from their tragic Uncle Brandon the Wild Wolf.

She laughed and felt herself relax in her brother’s arms. She’s thankful of him, and of Rickon too, for choosing to be with her here in the Gift. For choosing to understand her and help her in her struggles and share in her hopes and dreams.

With Robb now focused on his own family and his duties as Heir to Winterfell and their Lord Father and Lady Mother choosing to be blind and ignorant of her suffering, her brothers are a balm to her wounded heart. They give her still a family to rely on when the going gets tough.

“May I have the honor of the next dance My Lady?” the deep voice of the intense man she was trying to escape from jolted her back to reality.

She looked up at Bran in panic but her brother only smiled gently and kissed her cheek. “I find myself in need of a drink. Please take care of my sister My Lord” he told the Lord of the Dreadfort.

Sansa tried her best to compose herself. Not willing to show how much the man affected her. He bowed and she curtseyed and took the arms he offered.

“Thank you for arranging this feast in welcome Lady Stark. You have outdone yourself” he said softly, gently squeezing her hands.

“There is no need to thank me My Lord, I did invite you here”

“Yes you did. Which is why I can’t help but feel, you seem to be…avoiding me My Lady” There is tenseness in his entire frame that may not be noticeable to many but are apparent to sharp eyes.

Sansa felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. She didn’t think she’d been that obvious. She tried to meet his eyes. She found him looking at her with a hint of sadness but he blinked and it was gone. She wondered if she might have imagined it.

She straightened her spine. Yes, she did invite him here and for a reason. She’s the Lady of the Gift. She has achieved more than any maiden has in the North. She has prevailed over the obstacles that came her way. She’s not about to fail herself now. “Lord Bolton, I assure you I was not avoiding you. My apologies if I have offended you. I was merely unsure how to move further with you. You see, I did invite you here for a reason. But this is not the place and time for me to give you that reason my Lord. If you still choose to stay, I would like to have words with you tomorrow”

“Apologies accepted Lady Stark. I thank you for your honesty. Yes, I will stay and if you would allow, I would also like to take this opportunity to tour your lands. I am interested in looking at Maester Samwell and Lord Bran’s farming techniques as well as your glass gardens and see if it can be replicated in my own lands, with your approval of course and for a price if needs be.” His stance has become more relaxed and his face more open.

Sansa feels more confident with a specific topic for conversation now. And felt she could continue without further embarrassing herself. “Of course my Lord, I would be glad to take you on a tour myself. We both are, after all, rulers of our domains and must work together to lift each other up instead of tear each other down. It would be a great opportunity to find ways how we can help each other’s lands and peoples.”

“That we are my Lady. I am glad to find you are of the same mind as I when it comes to helping our people and lands. The rumors of your intelligence and good governance pale in comparison to what little I have witnessed so far My Lady. It will be an honor to see more.”

The damned man is back to his intense self now, his silvery eyes burning her and Sansa felt herself slowly becoming breathless once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Sansa's gown, I imagine her wearing the one she used on her coronation. That was so elegant.
> 
> For the headdress, I found Mirena's headdress on that feast scene from Dracula Untold a beautiful fit


	7. An Offer

The sun had not risen yet when Domeric woke up. He had found it hard to sleep the entire night, his body restless and his mind refusing to stop working. 

He stood up and went to the window which gave him a view of the lands still covered in thick morning fog. It was while he stood there, waiting for sunrise, that the memories of the previous evening, the feast and the lady of the castle came back to him. 

As he'd always known since the first time he met her, Lady Sansa had been beautiful. The gown and the elegant pearl headdress she wore only emphasized that. She had caught his eyes and he'd been helpless in turning his head away the entire evening. 

A mistake on his part. For his gaze only seemed to drive her away from his side. When he noticed how, after a time, she seemed to prefer talking to others and when she enthusiastically accepted her brother's offer to dance, he decided to step back and give her space. 

She had looked so beautiful dancing with her affable and smart brother. Both Starks were tall and good-looking and made a pretty sight as dancing partners, especially when they were both smiling. When he looked around he saw men and women looking at both admiringly and obviously waiting to approach either for a turn on the dance floor. 

As if he were a moth to flame, he found himself standing and moving to the pair, wanting to make sure to be the one the lady danced with next. Lord Bran thankfully granted him the opportunity. 

Seeing her nervous in his arms, he decided to go on ahead and address her avoidance of him. He wanted to make sure his presence was not unwanted, that he was not a burden. A burden to be endured or tolerated was the last thing he wanted to be to the lady of his hopes and dreams. 

When she bravely looked at him and gave him her honesty, he realized the reason for her apprehension and mayhaps shyness with an ache in his chest—for all the time she spent in the capital surrounded by famous knights and lords and princes of the kingdoms, despite everything she had achieved, Sansa Stark truly is still a maiden. A maiden who is rightly nervous of male attention after all the undeserved humiliation she has endured at the hands of stupid, careless, heartless men. He wanted to bash the Targaryen princes' faces in with his own hands and at the same wanted to embrace her and whisper words of assurances. That she could trust he will not hurt her. That he would not cause her dishonor.

But he kept himself in check, knowing any careless word or action from him might drive her away entirely. Many men have hurt and tried to destroy Sansa Stark, he'll not give her a single reason to think he's one of those men. 

He decided to wait for her to come to him and when she did, he'll do everything so she’ll find no reason to leave.

With his decision made up, he dressed himself for a turn in the training yard. There were many reputable fighters currently in Lady Sansa's castle he's itching to fight with. There’s the famed war hero Ser Brynden the Blackfish, the feared Sandor Clegane the Hound, the young Lord Rickon who many said was a prodigy with a sword, the Black Donnnel Flint and his half-brother Artos, the Lady Brienne who was Lady Sansa’s sworn protector and the Lady Dacey Mormont from Bear Island. There were also few visiting Umbers and men of the mountain clans.

A fight with any of them would be sure to help relieve his tension. 

************************************************************************************************************* 

Sansa worried her lips and tapped her fingers on the scroll in front of her again and again. Any moment now, the Lord of the Dreadfort will enter her solar and she would have to present her proposal to him. 

A movement from her side caught her attention and she rolled her eyes when she saw Rickon with his hip leaned on the table and bent to poke her in the forehead. Her brother was smirking, eyes laughing at her. She swatted his hands in mild annoyance and shot him a glare. 

"Seven hells Sansi! The man is clearly mad for you. Stop worrying over nothing or you'll look like a crone by the time you wed him."

"Easy for you to say you little wildling. You're not the one who's going to propose marriage to him" she retorted. 

Rickon only huffed and stretched his long frame up. He went to a side stand and took two goblets and filled them with wine. He then sat on her table like the wildling he was and placed one of the drinks in front of her. "Here. Drink this. You clearly need it. Gods, I never thought I'd see the day when my fearsome sister would go all stupid and bumbling for a man." Rickon muttered before taking a drink of his own.

Then he looked her straight in the eyes, all fierceness and force. "I had the opportunity of talking with him and watching him fight earlier. I liked him well enough. Stop worrying or you’ll grow wrinkles like Robb. Just do what you planned to do. The man should be grateful you want to marry him. If he proved he's no different than the rest of the rabble, then let me know. The Hound and I can put our heads together to plan a swift retribution. I'm sure Uncle won't refuse if we asked for his help."

"Rickon you idiot! Don't say that. You can't harm a guest under my protection, especially the Lord of the Dreadfort" Sansa explaimed at the audacity of her youngest brother.

He only smirked and shrugged." Who said we'll do the deed in your lands? We can strike when he's no longer under Guest Right."

Sansa massaged her forehead. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Her younger brother's wildness hasn't changed and she's sure he never will. He's a great fighter—a prodigy, their Uncle and Sandor called him—but he's so reckless and always talked without a filter. It's a good thing the people of the Gift are already used to him and his wildness. She shuddered just thinking what troubles her little brother would have created had he decided to go south, or even stay at Winterfell. "Please. No more talks of retribution or harming other lords."

Rickon only grinned showing all his teeth, like a feral wolf "No promises Sansi," then gulped from his goblet. 

A knock on the door and Lady Brienne entered and announced, "My Lady, the Lord Domeric Bolton here to speak with you".

Sansa shot up as if lightning went up her spine. Her goblet of wine almost got knocked over had Rickon not used his fast reflexes. She nodded her head at him in thanks the looked at Brienne, “Let him in please Brienne, thank you.” When she turned to her brother, he only smirked, wiggled his eyebrow then whispered teasingly. "The Lord Bolton to speak with you Sansi".

"Shut up and go away. Disappear now." She gritted lowly. 

Her brother only winked then swaggered to the door where he met the Lord of the Dreadfort who was just about to enter. He bowed to Lord Domeric exaggeratedly then spoke with mirth in his voice. “My Lord, I leave my beloved sister with you. I trust you shall keep her safe.”

Lord Bolton looked unsure how to deal with Rickon’s blithe attitude. His eyes flew to her first then to Rickon, then nodded seriously “Of course Lord Rickon”

Her brother looked back at her and scrunched his nose. “Please, I hate formalities. Just Rickon”

Lord Domeric smiled and nodded, “I understand. Just Rickon”

Rickon threw back his head in laughter. “Seven hells, good to know you have some humor in you man. I’d hate to always have to talk politely.” He then punched Lord Domeric’s shoulder lightly. “I’m leaving now before my sister sits me down for a lecture in manners”

The Lord Bolton only laughed lowly and let Rickon pass and close the door. Then he looked at her and smiled. “Lady Stark”

Sansa could not help but feel embarrassed a little at how Rickon so casually treated the Lord of the Dreadfort, “Lord Bolton, apologies if my brother’s lack of manners has offended you.”

He only waved her apologies away “He’s a good lad, I already knew he’s not one for formalities so no offense was taken My Lady. I am, in fact, relieved that he’s found it all right to be casual with me. It’s a welcomed reprieve from formalities I have to deal with all the time.”

Sansa felt relieved with his assurance. “Good. Do come and sit down My Lord. Would you like wine or ale?”

Lord Domeric approached and sat at the beautifully carved wooden seat in front of her carved mahogany table. ”Wine please, My Lady. Thank you”

After she served him wine, Sansa took her own seat. She looked at him and took a deep breath to calm herself, “Last night, when we danced, I told you I would speak with you regarding the reason I invited you here” She saw him nod, his eyes intent and focused on her.

She released a breath, her hands on her lap clenched tight, her knuckles almost white. She has planned everything but every plan she made all feel insufficient now in the face of a possible rejection.

But there’s nothing left to do but for her to move forward. She dearly hoped Jeyne, Bran, Rickon and everyone else who told her there was nothing for her to worry will be proven right.

She licked her lips then went on “You know of my past my Lord, of the events that led me here to this part of the North. I want you to know you are not obligated to accept my offer, though I hope you would consider it first. If you decide to decline, know that I will not take offense.” She paused to see him nod. 

The pressure in the room has become unbearable. The intensity of his eyes did not help calm her nerves. It is now or never. She's risen and fallen and risen again from an ocean of humiliation and despair. This time is no different. If she failed here, it will not be the end of the world. She will simply have to find a way to move on.

“I would like to offer you my hand in marriage, if you would accept me”


	8. Acceptance

Though he very much enjoyed his time in the training yard that morning and felt some of the tension went away, Domeric felt all his nerves go up with every step he took towards Lady Sansa’s solar when the time came to meet with her.

Whatever happened in that solar, he was sure will change him forever. Either she offered or he will. He cannot and will not let this opportunity pass him by. He knew that if he failed, he will spend the rest of his life looking back in regret. _And what a truly miserable life that would be._

When he heard the words he’d been hoping for since he received her invitation finally fall from her pretty pink lips, he only felt intense relief.

He wanted to laugh and reach across the table to embrace her tight and whisper to her _yes, a thousand times and a thousand more, yes, I would marry you. To finally have the honor to call you my wife and I your husband–I would be the happiest man in the entire known world._

He wanted to jump and run and shout to declare to all who could and would hear that _finally, finally, I will be hers and she will be mine._

He wanted to go to the godswood and bow in front of the heart tree to give thanks to the gods who has seen fit to finally bless him with his heart’s greatest desire.

He wanted to go back in time for that wretched young man on that cliff in the Vale who threw his hopes and dreams away in the wind and resolved to live a life of duty, to tell him to have faith, that his future is not as bleak as he thought it would be—that he will find happiness.

Too many things he wanted to do all at once.

It took much of his self-control to regulate his actions, to have all his emotions contained, but the Lady was waiting for his response, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, tried with everything he could to show just how honored he was to accept her offer.

*****************************************************************************

As soon as she finished putting forward her marriage offer to Domeric Bolton in words, Sansa almost wished she could take it back, fearing that she had been hasty in her approach. But she had said the words and they could no longer be unsaid. Now it’s up to the Lord of the Dreadfort to make his decision.

She gripped the skirt of her gown under the table in anxiety but continued to scrutinize him to get a sense of what went on his mind. She saw his face go through many emotions too fast for her to really grasp. Then she saw him close his eyes, take a deep breath then looked at her once more, his silvery eyes bright.

“Lady Stark, I would be greatly honored to wed you” he answered softly.

Sansa felt all the weight on her shoulder fell away. She exhaled then nodded slowly, then smiled softly at him. She saw him stand and reach out for her, felt him touch her cheek and realized tears were falling down her face. She felt her face flame for such an embarrassing display. “I’m sorry. Apologies My Lord. I didn’t mean to—“

“My Lady, please there’s no need. May I ask why the tears?” He murmured gently, all the while drying her cheeks of her tears with his calloused thumbs.

She slowly breathed in then out, “They are of relief my Lord, I assure you. I had hoped for you to agree to my offer but I must admit I also had fears of a possible rejection. My history with courtships and marriage offers has not exactly been… auspicious.”

He ceased brushing her tears away and gently tipped her face up to him, “Through no fault of your own, My Lady. You are a stunningly beautiful and admirably accomplished woman Lady Stark, the Targaryen princes were utter fools to have let you go”

Sansa lowered her lashes, feeling as though he was looking through her soul. “Thank you my Lord, I am grateful for your words and your acceptance of my offer. But I do believe there are matters we need to further discuss first in relation to our marriage contract.”

He nodded in agreement and sat down again, “Yes. If you would, I’d like to hear your conditions first My Lady.”

Sansa nodded and reached for the scroll she’d been tapping earlier. She knew all that was written there but she needed to hold it with her hands to remind her of what exactly she wanted out of this marriage. She breathed deeply and hoped the following conversation would go smoothly.


	9. News and Mixed Reviews

Only a moon after he sent word to Houses Ryswell and Dustin regarding his betrothal with Lady Sansa, his relatives descended upon the Dreadfort like beasts smelling the blood of prey. Domeric already anticipated mixed reactions when his relatives learned of his betrothal with Sansa. He knew the responses would not be all positive.

Like his Aunt Barbrey's for example. 

"The disgraced daughter of the trout? Really nephew? You're the Lord of the Dreadfort. Why settle for the dragon's trash?" The contempt in his Aunt's voice was palpable. She's always hated the Starks after that mess with the wild Brandon Stark. 

"Barbrey! Watch your tongue. Sansa Stark is the Lady of the Gift. She's Lady Catelyn's daughter, yes, but she's proven a better stock than the rest. Certainly the best of all Stark women" his Uncle Willam exclaimed, displeasure at his Aunt’s undeserved insult to Domeric’s betrothed written plain on his face.

Though only an uncle by law, his Uncle Willam is his personal favorite. He has learned a lot from his Uncle during his time as his page. He’s also of similar temperament with Domeric. He's the most levelheaded one and always sought to be diplomatic in his dealings. He's also the one most loyal still to the Starks of Winterfell—a fact his Aunt hated.

"The best Willam? Is that supposed to impress me? This girl who's been thrown away like yesterday's trash by the inbred scums of Kingslanding?" his Aunt simply raised her impressively sharp eyebrows. 

"Just like you were thrown like trash by Brandon Stark, sweet sister. Really, you're only insulting yourself when you make a mockery of her so I recommend you stop before you appear more the fool" his Uncle Mark quipped glibly from his place by the window, a smirk on his face, hands crossed at his chest.

Long has Domeric held his tongue in the presence of his relatives as they took turns hurling slurs regarding Sansa’s honor, he’s not about to stand by and let them continue. He has the right to do it now and he'll take every chance to protect her, even from demeaning words flung by his relatives.

"Aunt Barbrey please. Sansa is a good woman. She does not deserve the mockery and insults she's been attacked with just because the Targaryen princes proved no better than their father. And she’s to be my wife and Lady of this castle, have care with how you speak" Domeric defended his betrothed.

His aunt's face twisted into a scowl. "You think you're so discreet eh? Think I didn't recognize the look in your eyes every time you looked her way. You want that little fish. You wanted her for a long time now."

“And what of it Aunt? I have done my duty to my Father, my lands and my people. I am a Lord without a wife. Do I not have the right to pursue the woman I hold affection for? Am I to deny myself because other people do not favor my choice?” he asked his Aunt, defiance in his voice.

"Wife, Domeric is a grown man and is capable of making his own decisions. He doesn't need our approval. I for one am not against this match. The Lady Sansa has proven herself capable of leading and has done so impressively in a land known for poverty and lawlessness" his Uncle Willam played the diplomat, doing intervention to calm his wife’s ire but looked at Domeric with approval clear on his face. 

“Of course you’d agree Willam. I expected as much. You’ve always been a Stark lickspittle despite all the deaths the wolves have caused the North in their recklessness and stupidity.” His Aunt’s face remained sour, her posture that of a beast denied her prey.

"Well, the betrothal’s been struck. Let Domeric have his lady love bitter sister. Let father finally get his wish of Ryswell blood mixing with the Starks.” his Uncle Mark left his position and sat on the ornate chair in front of Domeric’s working table. He took a goblet and filled it with wine and handed it to his seething sister who accepted it and took a long sip.

“So, what terms did she have for this match nephew? She's got cunning that woman, and I won't believe it if you tell me she did not have conditions” his Uncle Willam broke the silence.

His Uncle Mark and Aunt Barbrey both sat up straight and looked at him. 

Domeric threw his uncle a look of gratitude, thankful of his interference and moving the conversation to other topics. "She had several, yes, but most prominent were regarding the line of succession, military and trade aspects."

"Oh? Care to share nephew? Or did the Lady Sansa already put a gag order on you?" his Uncle Mark asked, intrigue written on his face.

"Our first son will of course inherit the seat of the Dreadfort. But Sansa has declared the Gift will follow that of Dornish Law of succession. The eldest sibling, whether male or female shall inherit the Gift." He sipped from his own mug of wine to prepare his throat for a long talk, "If we only have a daughter, she'll automatically be heiress of Sansa's seat with Bran Stark as her regent until she reaches majority. She'll be tutored by Sansa's select advisers who will also make up Lord Brandon's council. If only a male child is born, the Gift shall remain under Lord Bran's regency until such time our son has heirs of his own. The same terms would apply in selecting the future head of the Gift from our son's children. In the event of her death and no child is produced, the Gift shall pass on to Brandon Stark and Rickon his heir. If they also both perish without heirs of their own, then Lord Robb's children shall inherit but the child must live at the Gift when they reach 7 years of age and tutor under Sansa’s selected council. However, if the majority of the council deems Lord Robb's children incapable of leading the Gift, then the council shall conduct an election from a list of vassal families of the Gift.”

His Uncles and Aunt all looked astounded with the highly stringent succession law Sansa came up with. He himself had been left speechless when he heard it the first time. Leave it to his Lady to prepare for every eventuality. 

"Well" his Uncle Willam started then cleared his throat "That's a mighty ironclad order. It's honestly impressive. The Freys and the Targaryens could learn a thing or two from your future wife."

His Uncle Mark only huffed a little laugh, "And the Ryswells too for that matter."

His Aunt on the other hand had a severe face. "She would really have a daughter be heiress of the Gift over a younger son? And this council, can they really be trusted with such high stakes?"

Domeric only nodded at her "I have stayed long enough in the Gift to get a measure of the men in Lady Sansa's council and I must say no other group of people has impressed me as much as they."

"Hm. We'll see more of them I'm sure. If necessary, we can make changes." Was his Aunt Barbrey’s retort, ever the schemer. 

"I rather you not dip your hands in the affairs of the Gift, Aunt or you might find yourself relieved of your fingers. The Lady Sansa will easily find out if anyone interferes with the workings of the Gift" 

"Is that a threat nephew?" his Aunt's voice has gone hard. 

"No. I merely advice for you to take caution”

"Who are included in this council you speak of? Do you know?" his Uncle Mark asked, clearly intrigued. 

"Ser Brynden the Blackfish, Lord Rickon, Sandor Clegane and Lady Brienne advise in military and security matters, Lord Bran, Maester Samwell, Lady Jeyne Flint and Lady Dacey Mormont advise in politics and trade.."

Uncle Willam nodded in understanding, “It makes sense she’d choose those who stuck with her all this time”

“Though I cannot help but think your little fish somehow has made this move with a greater purpose in mind, what with the mess happening in the south. Are you quite certain she’s worth all the trouble waiting to happen?” Aunt Barbrey commented, eyes sharp on him.

“I agree with your Aunt on this Dom. This betrothal seems to have southern complications attached to it” his Uncle Mark added. “What is the Lady Sansa’s position in all the shit pile waiting to spill over?”

“She has not made her position clear but from what little I observed, Sansa is in support of Princess Rhaenys” Domeric made his own speculation.

“Oh? Is the frost between the Starks that thick and wide that your betrothed would rather throw her lot with the Martells?” a nasty smile was pasted on his Aunt’s lips, no doubt entertained by the chilled relationships within the wolf pack.

“It was merely speculation Aunt. A lot of things can still change. Who knows, perhaps the Tully words would prove stronger. After all, in the end, blood is still blood” Domeric shrugged his shoulders. He and Sansa have not discussed their own personal thoughts regarding the messy business going on in the South. And though he has an inkling of who Sansa is supportive of, he cannot say for certain what her final decision would be, especially since the matter included complicated family relationships.

"I find it curious she would support the Martells after what Aegon did" his Uncle Mark commented, no doubt wondering at Sansa’s lingering friendship with the family of the man who humiliated her.

“House Martell and their allies have trade agreements with the Gift and White Harbour through Lady Sansa and she always speaks respectfully of the Queen Elia and Princess Rhaenys. I think that is a clear indication they have treated her kindly and have secured Sansa’s regard. And from what I gathered from the ravens sent by Jasper and the Redforts, the Martells have withdrawn their support from Aegon and placed it instead on Princess Rhaenys who has a daughter and two sons.”

“Did they? But by the Targaryen laws of succession, Aegon has a better claim than Rhaenys” was his Uncle Mark’s retort.

"Hmm. Aegon may have a better claim than Rhaenys, but his action against Sansa Stark has clearly affected him negatively. The issues surrounding his children are also bound to make other lords hesitant to give him support. His situation does not really inspire confidence.” His Uncle Willam’s pointed observation.

“I agree. He may find gathering support an uphill battle. But he does have a window of opportunity, what with Jon Targaryen only having two daughters” Domeric added his own observation.

His Aunt Barbrey laughed derisively, “The Dragon’s bitch, the Mother trout and the little bitch princess must be in a tizzy at not having a son to secure the Iron Throne. What a truly ironic turn of events”

“Quite a pinch our liege lord has gotten himself in with these particular Stark women” Uncle Mark observed.

“You’re quite updated with the goings-on in the South Dom” his Uncle Willam remarked, leading the conversation away from the Starks, no doubt aware the issue will only get heated with his Aunt Barbrey present.

“I have friends in literal high places uncle” Domeric japed. Sending him to the Vale as a ward of House Redfort was one of the few acts of his father that he was grateful for. It gave him the opportunity to build ties with the young lords of the Vale. Ties he’s now cashing on in.

“Well, good for you nephew. Do keep us abreast with the goings-on in the south eh?” his Uncle Mark stood up and patted him heavily in the back. “Now, I’m sure you’re quite tired of our presence already. And we’ve all ridden hard to come here and talk to you, I believe a respite now would be welcomed by all”

“Yes, we have enough time yet to discuss other matters with Dom. Come wife, let’s give the lad some breather” Uncle Willam stood up and helped his reluctant Aunt get to her feet.

Domeric took a deep breath and a long exhale when the door to his solar closed, finally left in peace.


	10. Regrets

Arya remained leaning on the wall by the window, eyes trained on her daughters playing in the garden below. The flowers have fascinated them and now they're making crowns they'll no doubt wear after. To be young and free of life's many burdens... 

She barely stopped rolling her eyes when she heard her Aunt Lyanna's heavy footsteps on the marble floor as she paced like a caged wolf. She knew without turning to her that her face will be an ugly red in her rage at the news they just received.

“That stupid girl! How dare she do this! I knew it. She’s nothing but a conniving fish just like her Trout grandfather. This can’t happen. It can’t! To a Bolton! She’s allying with the vultures threatening Winterfell” Lyanna snarled, sounding more like a savage than a Queen.

Years have passed and even now, Sansa still managed to make herself an important figure despite her distance in the northernmost territory of the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Of course it all goes back to Sansa_ , she thought with much acrimony and some resignation.

Her once sister will always be a complex subject for her—one that never fails to bring out a maelstrom of emotions she always finds difficult to unravel and understand. 

As a child growing up in Winterfell with her Southern Mother and the hateful Septa Mordane who both tried to turn her into her sister, Arya had grown to bitterly resent Sansa. She was the perfect daughter. She was the one who achieved mastery of her courtesies and decorum while still very young and always received admiration and praise for it while Arya was scolded and insulted and called Horseface. Sansa was destined to be queen while Arya was fated to kneel before her and call her “Your Grace”.

When Sansa went south, Arya breathed a sigh of relief, thinking she would be free of her sister’s shadow—but it did not last for long. The more Winterfell received letters containing praises for Sansa, the more Arya was compared and pushed into becoming like her.

It was only Jon’s presence that soothed her and made things better. Jon was her best friend—the only person to understand her. He knew her even more than Robb and Father. Jon accepted her and her desire for freedom, her yearning to live by her own terms.

Jon’s company also meant being privy to letters from her Aunt Lyanna. They laughed together when Aunt Lyanna wrote to Jon and Arya complaining about Sansa’s naive stupidity, her growing closeness with the damned Martells and her pursuit of useless and boring ladylike activities.

It soothed her ego and made her happy, knowing that her Aunt the Queen thought her more worthy of the Stark name and wanted her in the south instead of Sansa, that the Queen did not favor her sister and instead approved of Arya’s interests. It validated her views, that what she dreamed and hoped for—the freedom to choose how she wanted to live her life—was not some silly dream. 

When word came that Sansa failed to secure Prince Aegon and that Jon was to marry her instead, Arya’s anger and resentment for her sister intensified.

Jon was hers. Stupid Sansa can’t have the only person who took the time to know and understand her. Sansa did not deserve him—will never deserve him.

Jon did not want to marry Sansa anyway. He held no fondness for Sansa and he knew from his letters from her Aunt that Sansa was foolishly smitten with Aegon and was influenced by the ambitious Martells. He also knew he did not share the same interests with her and refused to be tied to someone who was only good for looking pretty and birthing heirs.

When Jon proposed to marry in haste to avoid being married to Sansa but still keeping the alliance with the North, Arya accepted—knowing that sooner or later, her Father and Mother would push her to marry someone she probably won’t like, much less love or trust.

In accepting Jon’s offer, she gained freedom from her Father and Mother’s control. She’s assured she’s marrying someone she liked and trusted, someone who understood her and her dreams and did not judge her for it.

Jon made an agreement with her. He promised not treat her like a broodmare and would allow her freedom. She’ll be able to live like her Aunt, free to pursue her own interests. And by marrying Jon, she’ll be in an even higher rank and it will be Sansa who will curtsey and call her “Your Grace”.

Here she is now, so different from that girl she once was and so far from the person she wanted to be. Her dream has twisted into a nightmare and her freedom turned to chains. 

Instead of living life in her own terms, she's become a tool for the crown, a broodmare for the Targaryen bloodline. A mother to two beautiful girls but labeled a failure all because her womb won't give birth to a son. 

“Arya! Arya are you even listening to me?”

Lyanna’s grating voice cut through her thoughts and dragged her back to the situation at hand. She turned to see her Aunt. The scowl on her Aunt’s face confirmed she knew Arya had tuned her out.

“Seven hells, here I was worrying for you and our family and you just ignore me. Do you even understand the implication of this impending marriage between your sister and that Bolton scum to our House? To you and your children?”

Arya remained silent. Of course she knows. She’s no longer the ignorant girl she was years ago.

“The Boltons, the Dustins, the Ryswells, the Manderlys, schemers, all of them. They’ve united to wrestle power in the North no doubt. House Stark has ruled them justly for centuries and now they dare rise against us. And your conniving sister!”Lyanna stopped her pacing and sat down on the chair in front of Arya, “If this wedding is allowed to happen, those ingrates will back her and will put our family at risk. She must be stopped. I will have words with Rhaegar.”

 _It’s not just Sansa’s fault. It’s because of you. Because you and Rhaegar dragged the North to a pointless war and caused thousands of deaths and devastation. Those houses did not just unite in a day. They have joined forces and moved away from House Stark in the years following the failed Rebellion. A rebellion which resulted from your actions that led to the Mad King killing Grandfather and Uncle Brandon,_ Arya wanted to say but held back. She knows it’s no use.

Years of living in the Red Keep has removed all the wool in her eyes and made her realize just what kind of family she’s stupidly tied herself into.

Rhaegar is a selfish cunt whose head is either buried in prophecies or filled with delusions of Targaryen grandeur. His only notable characteristic is that he does not burn people alive like his father the Mad King. Most of his duties have now been relegated to Jon.

Lyanna is not her ally. Lyanna only cares about herself and her own wants. Her stubbornness will not change. She does not care what others think and say. She believes only her own opinions and feelings matter. She is her husband’s and the rest of the Targaryen’s match in conceit. Thinking because they are royalty and blood of the dragon, they can do whatever they want. 

And Jon—Arya is not even sure what they are to each other anymore these days. He does show a little care for their children but an unbridgeable gap has certainly sprung up between them because of the lack of heir and the pressure from his father. Gone was their easy camaraderie, their closeness. They barely speak because of the time he spends doing his father's bidding, only interacting awkwardly when the maester says it is an auspicious time to try for an heir.

Living in the Red Keep with the rest of them has become unbearable. She feels stifled, like an animal in too small a cage. She constantly feels as though a noose is tied around her neck and the rope gets tighter and tighter every moon she bleeds and every year passes that no male child comes out of her cunt. 

The court does not help either. The arrogant lords and their simpering ladies, all idiots willing to kiss the asses of those in position to get just a little more power. Even now, she never learned to stomach their hypocrisy and shallowness.

She thinks of Sansa. Thinks of how lucky she is living in the Far North, free from the constraints of the crown and the stupidity and cruelty of the court. She imagines her in the Gift with Bran and Rickon, surrounded by people loyal to her. She'd give anything to be in her position now.

Many times she thought of running away. She's thought of picking her daughters up and leaving the shitpile of a city and go somewhere—a place where she and her children could be free.

But where would she go? Which place would keep her daughters safe? She can't go North. It will only cause more problems for House Stark and possibly put them all in danger.

The Targaryen influence, especially the reach of the Spider's web, is so vast she cannot think of a place where they won't be dragged out of and returned to the Red Keep with even less freedom and chained to even more duties.

She shouldn't have agreed to marry Jon all those years ago. She should've just run away without looking back.


	11. The Dreadfort

With so many notable guests invited and expected to attend, the wedding was scheduled to happen in six moons. Sansa has agreed with Lord Domeric to stay at the Dreadfort to help with the preparations and ensure everything would be in order and within her expectations. 

She appointed Bran as her regent during her absence, with Maester Samwell, Lady Dacey, Jeyne and Sandor as his counselors. Her Uncle Brynden and Rickon demanded they both be part of her retinue and guards along with Lady Brienne.

After a lengthy discussion of the duties and responsibilities she's leaving behind, she and her retinue journeyed for the Bolton seat. 

She's heard many tales about the Dreadfort since she was a girl of course. Most of them grisly and dark and made her have nightmares when she was just a child. 

Stories tell that the seat of the Red Kings of old is a strong fortress but a cursed one.

Many described it has thick stone walls, triangular merlons that look like sharp stone teeth and massive towers that keep outsiders from truly knowing what exactly happens inside.

She's heard the walls are tall and the windows are narrow and allow little light in. The corridors are long and shrouded in darkness and the Great Hall is dim and smoky, with rows of torches grasped by skeletal human hands jutting from the walls, all of them removed from corpses of both enemies and loyal servants of House Bolton. That the hall has a vaulted ceiling and wooden rafters turned eerily black from smoke.

There are also gruesome tales of dark secret rooms and vaults beneath the castle where previous lords of the Dreadfort commited their practices of flaying, raping and many other vile actions.

When Roose Bolton was still Lord of the Dreadfort, many said the people in Bolton territory lived quiet lives.

_A peaceful land, a quiet people._

How much of that was due to loyalty or fear, none could really tell.

With the horrible name Dreadfort and its position at the foot of the Lonely Mountains and the banks of the Weeping Water, it painted a terrifyingly lonely place indeed. 

Not that it matters of course.

She's old enough to know not all stories are true. Most of them are just greatly embellished to fascinate, terrify or deceive any foolish listeners. And besides, she already had its lord vetted. If there's anything that displeased her regarding the castle, she'll just have it taken care of once she's Lady Bolton. 

When they got close to the fortress, Sansa saw that the description regarding the high walls, merlons and tall towers were all true. But looking at the people they passed by, she saw that they looked far from the gloomy people many stories described them as. They looked comfortable, healthy and content enough. She even saw children smiling and waving their little hands at her. She took that as proof of Lord Domeric’s good governance.

When they reached the castle yard, they're greeted by sight of the Lord Bolton, his pretty little daughter and some of the important members of his household. She was glad to see Lady Wylla smiling at her from among the assembly but stiffened when she next met the dark eyes of the Lady Barbrey and her husband the Lord Willam Dustin. Though she knew the Lord Willam to be a diplomatic man, she just knew his Ryswell wife won’t let the opportunity to make her criticisms known pass her by.

She sat straighter and lifted her chin just a little higher. _She can try._

The moment her mare stopped, the Lord Bolton stepped forward and helped her dismount with strong but gentle hands. Then he kissed her gloved hands, “My Lady, welcome to the Dreadfort”

She looked at him and saw a light glimmer in his eyes and the small smile on his lips. She felt relieved to see that the man looked pleased to see her, “Thank you My Lord”

Domeric also greeted her Uncle Brynden, Rickon and Brienne who all stepped behind her like protective sentinels. Then he offered his arm for her to place her hand on and guided her to his gathered people “Come my lady, I shall introduce you to my household”

He introduced her to his daughter Bethany first who was standing with Lady Wylla at her back, smiling and supporting her little shoulders.

“Hello Lady San-za” The little girl gave her an adorably clumsy curtsey and a wide smile, showing her incomplete set of teeth.

Sansa felt fondness for the pretty, bright-eyed child and bent to her level and smiled at her in greeting “It is nice to see you again, Lady Bethany”

The little girl ran to her father and hid behind his legs but giggled and peeked at Sansa in curiosity. Domeric chuckled and simply patted his daughter’s head.

The Lord Willam stepped forward next “Lady Sansa, it is good to see you doing well my lady. Allow me to congratulate you on your betrothal with my nephew” He bowed in greeting and kissed the hand she extended.

“Thank you Lord Dustin. It is good to see you too” She greeted the man with a little smile. The Lady Barbrey remained in her position, face pinched, as though she smelled something sour. Sansa has no expectation of goodwill from the woman, not when she knows the woman is one of the many people who laughed and made japes of her disgrace.

Domeric went on to introduce the rest and offered two servants and a guard to her Uncle Brynden to assist with taking care her retinue get to their proper accommodations.

“Your journey has been pleasant I hope?” Domeric asked as he escorted her to her rooms, Brienne and Rickon and two servants following behind them.

“It was well enough, thank you. And you My Lord? How have you fared since last we met?” Sansa looked at him.

“My relatives have invaded the Dreadfort and harassed me for details in the past moon My Lady and I have spent many nights reading letters and writing responses to friends in faraway places. I fear I will find myself with a cramped right hand by the time all correspondences are done” the man smiled wryly.

Rickon who was just behind them clearly heard and snickered, “This is why I like the wildling tradition of marrying. If I could, I’d rather not go through a wedding. So many things to do, so many things to prepare for. Hopefully, now that Sansa is here, she’ll be able to help lighten the load”

“I’m sure she will,” the man assured while looking Sansa in the eyes, his own still had that light gleam and a gentleness in the curve of his mouth.

When they finally stopped walking, it was in front of the room meant for her. Domeric opened it for her, “I know the wedding is yet six moons away but I want to ensure you have the best accommodations possible for your own convenience and comfort. This is the Lady’s chamber My Lady. It is attached to a solar also connected to mine. I imagine you’d want privacy so you can have full use of the solar.”

Sansa moved and looked around.

The room was large with three tall, stained-glass windows with iron bars that let the light in easily. Right under the window, there was a small receiving area with a table surrounded by a lounge chaise and chairs.

On the left side of the room stood a large, stone fireplace to keep the room warm during cold nights. Most of the floor was covered with thick fur carpet.

Many of the furniture were made of redwood the most prominent item being the canopied-bed connected to the wall on the right side of the window. She had no doubt it was a feather bed—the dark downy sheets and furs and stuffed pillows all looked lavish. A large looking glass and a dark colored wardrobe stood on the right side of the bed.

Everything was clearly arranged for her comfort and benefit. She looked at him and saw that he was clearly a bit apprehensive while observing her reactions and waiting for a response. She smiled at him in reassurance, “This is very generous of you My Lord. Thank you”

Domeric’s tense posture relaxed and he looked pleased, “You are welcome My Lady” then he waved his hand to one of the servants, “Bella shall be yours to command if you need anything My Lady”

The woman smiled politely and gave a curtsy to which Sansa nodded.

Domeric turned to Rickon next, “I also expect you, Ser Brynden and Lady Brienne would like to be roomed near the Lady Sansa so I had lodgings prepared just on the opposite corridor. Larra shall take you to your rooms and yours to command if you need anything”

Rickon grunted a thank you and asked Larra to lead him to his rooms so he could rest. Domeric also excused himself so Sansa and Lady Brienne could rest after the long journey and prepare for the welcome feast that night.


	12. News and Mixed Reviews 2

_Sunspear_

"A raven from the North arrived last night. An invitation to a wedding at the Dreadfort. Lady Sansa is to marry the Lord Domeric Bolton" Doran announced in his increasingly weak, gravelly voice.

Oberyn paused in his act of peeling a blood orange with his dagger, "A first Stark-Bolton marriage if I remember my history well. How curious of Lady Sansa"

"Somehow I am not surprised. We all know what really is going on in the North, the deep divide resulting from events caused by Lyanna and Rhaegar's actions. Sansa Stark has grown to be a smart woman. It's not surprising she would take advantage of the situation. Are you attending Uncle?" Arriane cocked her head in question.

"Dorne has a stronger trade than ever with the North due to Rhaenys and our friendly relations with Lady Sansa. With the alliance that comes with this marriage, I think it only fit that we have a representative there" Doran looked at his daughter then his brother. 

Oberyn grinned, his dark eyes gleaming, "I will go. I have always wanted to go North and see the famed Northern wall, the Gift and the infamous Dreadfort. It would also be good to meet Sansa again and see how she is and take measure of this Lord Bolton. I might never have the opportunity to go there again what with my aging bones"

"Aging bones" Arianne snorted then smirked at her uncle "You're quite the virile man yet Uncle, if the rumors still going around regarding your conquests are to be believed. Well, don't hold your breath for me. Much as it would please me to see the Lady Sansa again, I don't think the travel is worth it. You might want to seek Quentyn. That one is always interested in traveling to new places"

"I rather not. Quentyn will make such a dull companion" Oberyn winked playfully at his niece. 

"He will not be a competition when it comes to your conquests. I think that makes him an excellent travel companion" Arianne pointed out. 

Oberyn threw his head back in laughter, "Ah niece, such a wicked mind you have. Very well, Quentyn the boring and least handsome prince of Dorne it is. I’m sure Ellaria would love to go too" Oberyn cut a piece of the blood orange and swallowed it, the spilled juices running through his fingers ignored.

"Oberyn, there are things I'd like to go over with you regarding this trip. Mayhaps you'd also like to coordinate with Rhaenys and inquire what her plans are." Doran advised his brother.

"Indeed. That I would" Oberyn agreed, already looking forward to meeting his most favorite niece and her delightful brood.

***

_Highgarden_

"The trout is marrying the flayed man" Olenna dropped the small scroll only to be quickly snatched up by Willas. 

Mace stopped stuffing his face, swallowed and asked in confusion, "What? Who?" 

Olenna just snorted at the stupidity of her oaf of a son, "Sansa Stark"

Mace let out an unbecoming chortle, his jowls and his belly jiggling "Someone actually wants to marry _The_ _Great Disgrace_?"

Olenna rolled her eyes at the predictable reaction from her son then looked at her grandson.

At least the gods were merciful enough to give her hope for the future of House Tyrell. Though, considering what happened to his leg, she retracted and thought the gods were cunts. 

Oh the glorious legacy of the golden roses! A cripple for an heir. A soldier only capable of following orders and no great intelligence of his own. A vainglorious sword-swallower. And her favorite grandchild, the one she had so much hope for with her beauty and brains, still a beauty but with a mind increasingly slipping by the day. Such a waste. Targaryen men really are nothing but harbingers of doom to their women. 

"This is quite the move from the Lady Sansa. This will have a huge impact in the North and consequences for the Northern support of the Queen Lyanna and Princess Arya" 

"What are you two talking about? That ruined girl has no significance anymore, whatsoever" Mace huffed. 

"If you really think that, then you are more foolish than I have ever thought you were. The marriage will unite the wealthy Gift with House Bolton, House Manderly, House Ryswell and House Dustin—some of the most powerful houses in the North. Does that sound insignificant to you?" Olenna looked at her son with her face tilted patronizingly.

"Who cares about the northern houses? They're nothing but dour savages. And besides, the Stark princess has not given birth to a male heir. Aegon and Margaery has a son and that's what matters" Mace said, waving his hand dismissively.

Olenna looked gravely at the oaf in front of her, "And what makes you confident the lords of Westeros will support Aegon and his son? In case you haven't noticed, Dorne has turned its back on Aegon already in favor of his sister. Margaery's condition and the boy's questionable health aren't helping the situation either. A sickly boy born of a woman with the screws in her head coming loose slowly. Does that inspire support to you? At this point, the trouts are at a more advantageous situation"

"That is rubbish” the oaf laughed in dismissal “No matter their constitution, the sons of the first son place higher in the line of succession. Not the Princess Rhaenys and her brats nor the mad Viserys and his spawns. The throne is Aegon's by right, and he’d be there in Kingslanding preparing for his ascent to the throne were it not for that wolf bitch of a queen whispering in the ears of the king. Everyone knows this."

Olenna shared an irritated look with her grandson. Willas only sighed and rubbed his temple, impatience written on his face, "And where is Prince Aegon now?"

Mace perked up on his seat, his eyes brightened, "He's with Loras in Storm’s End. Some stormlords still secretly loyal to the Baratheons have expressed support, I believe. A good portent wouldn’t you agree?"

***

_The Vale of Arryn_

With a pleased groan, Jasper fell on the bed and continued to lie there, trying to catch his breath. With his eyes still closed, he caught the probing hands tickling the fine hairs on his chest, “My love, still not satisfied?”

His bed companion giggled and moved to lay her head on his chest, “Is it done?”

Jasper sighed deeply and caressed the satiny smooth skin of the thigh thrown over his hip “Aye. I have sent the letter a sennight ago, including Maester Colemon’s assessment as well as the supporting statement from Maester Helliweg”

The woman shivered and pulled up the blankets to cover them both and returned to her position on his chest, “I am afraid.”

Jasper turned to his side and moved his hand to her waist to pull her close, “There’s no need for you to be afraid”

“She’s a princess. Beloved sister of the King” her hands moved to rake through his hair.

“That she is. It is unfortunate but as Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East, I am entitled and within reason to set her aside. The King has tried to annul his marriage with the Queen Elia for her incapacity to bear him another child though she already gave him a son and a daughter. My reason is far more valid than his. He has no right to stop me. Especially since I have no child to show for the close to seven years of marriage. Only dead and deformed babes. And we know why they were all born that way. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms know” Jasper’s voice hardened toward the end.

“Shh…calm. Have you told her yet?”

“No, I rather not deal with a hysterical or raging female. That reminds me, stay away from Harry fucking Hardyng. Don’t let him ever get near you” he moved and looked his lover in the eye and touched her face “I need you to listen to me. I have received words that the fucker was seen talking with her. So make sure to stay away alright? Take care to always have someone with you and don’t ever allow him or anyone to corner you or catch you alone. Do you hear me?”

“Yes. Of course my love”

He lay down again “Good. I have received a raven, from the Dreadfort by the way. From Sansa and Domeric. They are to be married”

The woman gasped, “Truly?”

Jasper nodded and smiled.

“Oh how wonderful for Dom and your cousin” the woman fondly said, a pleased look on her face, “Will you go?”

“Of course. It’s been years. It’s time I reunite with Dom and meet my lovely and brilliant cousin again. Ronnel and Mychel will be sure to join me. It will be like the good old days. Do you want to go?”

“Hm, I will have to ask father first. I will have to see if they received an invitation and find out what their plans are” the woman replied after yawning like a kitten.

Jasper smiled fondly at the adorable sight and reached out to help her lay down again on his arm “I’m sure your father will give his permission, what with the trade and friendship your family has with the Lady of the Gift. Sansa is ever the gracious lady and Dom a friend of your uncles; they won’t forget to send your family an invite.”

The woman smiled, her lids almost shut now, “I would love to go with you. I have never been to anywhere past the Neck. It will be an adventure I am sure. We can find sometime for ourselves” she whispered drowsily.

“Hm. That would indeed be good” he agreed, “Sleep now. We can talk more tomorrow”

“Hmm. Sweet dreams my lord”

“And you my lady”

***

_Tower of the Hand_

“The Wasted Wolf and the Flayed Man, what a pair. I’m sure bards will be scrambling to compose songs and mummers will have a fresh inspiration for their plays” Cersei sneered then took a sip from her goblet of wine.

Myrcella surreptitiously rolled her eyes but kept quiet, sure that her mother will get to her point in time.

“No matter. This will only be a boon to us, I am sure. I heard the Stark relations are as frigid as ever and poor Sansa Stark still hold hatred for her feral bitch of a sister. If it were me, I’d have paid the debt in full a long time ago. Well, no matter. With the whore married to a Bolton, the North will be even more divided”

Myrcella sighed, already tiring of the conversation “The North has been divided for years Mother. That is not something new. And this is certainly not a boon to us. If not Princess Arya, then Princess Rhaenys will benefit the most considering their family relation and Sansa’s friendship and trade with that of House Martell”

Her mother only waved her hands in dismissal and smirked haughtily “Myrcella, where there are divisions, we can easily penetrate and take advantage of the conflict. Let them do the job for us and tear each other’s throats.”


End file.
